


every part of you says yes

by lacking



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Blow Jobs, Body Dysphoria, Bottom Shiro (Voltron), Dirty Talk, Hand Jobs, Ignores S8, Lingerie, M/M, Mood Whiplash, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Praise Kink, bdsm undertones, body issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-25
Updated: 2019-06-25
Packaged: 2020-05-19 05:08:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19350115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lacking/pseuds/lacking
Summary: “Hey,” Keith says.“Hey.” Shiro’s playing with Keith’s hair, brushing it away from the smooth slope of his neck, tucking it behind his ear. He spirals a lock around his finger, curious to see if it’s thick enough to hold the curl.Keith asks the question around a yawn, pushing his cold toes beneath Shiro’s ankle, rubbing his cheek against his shoulder like a content, oversized cat. Shiro blinks at the ceiling and makes a sound like he’s thinking about how to answer, biding his time without really intending to say anything at all. He turns his face into the pillow just as Keith lifts his head, eyes dark and soft and brimming with affection, lips tipped into a drowsy smile.The words just kind of fall out of Shiro’s mouth.Shiro tells Keith what he likes. Keith wants to know more.





	every part of you says yes

Shiro doesn’t mean to say it.

It happens after sex, sprawled out on his back with Keith pressed flush against his side, his hand lying across the scar that stretches out along the width of Shiro’s abdomen. It’s an ugly mark –red and twisted, raised up from the skin, left behind by something that probably should have killed him. It frightened Shiro the first time he saw it, made his throat constrict and the back of his neck prickle with sweat. He couldn’t understand why it hadn’t, couldn’t make sense of the way his body was put together anymore.

Keith rolls his thumb over the scar’s puckered edge, following it down to where it begins to taper off at Shiro’s waist, disappearing completely around the curve of his hip. They’ve been together for nearly a year now, but he still touches Shiro like he wants to explore him, retreading a path he already knows just to see if there’s something he’s missed.

“Hey,” Keith says.

“Hey.” Shiro’s playing with Keith’s hair, brushing it away from the smooth slope of his neck, tucking it behind his ear. He spirals a lock around his finger, curious to see if it’s thick enough to hold the curl.

Keith asks the question around a yawn, pushing his cold toes beneath Shiro’s ankle, rubbing his cheek against his shoulder like a content, oversized cat. Shiro blinks at the ceiling and makes a sound like he’s thinking about how to answer, biding his time without really intending to say anything at all. He turns his face into the pillow just as Keith lifts his head, eyes dark and soft and brimming with affection, lips tipped into a drowsy smile.

The words just kind of fall out of Shiro’s mouth.

Keith’s eyebrows lift up. “Really,” he says, sounding more intrigued than surprised.

“Um.” Shiro clears his throat, biting the inside of his cheek. No way to reel it back now. “Yeah. I guess.”

“You guess.” Keith tilts his head, eyes narrowing before his smile widens, showing teeth. “Are you blushing?”

“No.”

“You are!” 

Shiro shakes his head though can feel the heat now, coursing up his neck, spreading over his face and ears. Keith makes a noise like he’s swallowing down a laugh, pushing up on his elbow so he can place a kiss on Shiro’s shoulder, his jaw, the taut corner of his mouth.

“Don’t be embarrassed,” Keith says. Again, Shiro tries to deny it, but it’s difficult to do when Keith won’t stop kissing him. He smacks his lips against Shiro’s cheek in a series of quick pecks, making an obnoxious, wet noise to accompany each one. Shiro squirms, wiggling against the sheets as he half-heartedly tries to push Keith away. Keith snickers and shuffles closer, licking the shell of Shiro’s ear before trying to stick his tongue inside.

“God!” Shiro laughs, catching Keith’s face between his hands, holding him at bay. “Enough!”

“What?”

“ _What_ ” Shiro parrots, his voice taking on a squeaky tone that doesn't really resemble Keith at all. “Don’t ‘what’ me.” He pinches at Keith’s cheeks, squishing them up and down. “You know what.”

Keith sticks out his bottom lip, mockingly contrite, and blows a stream of air into Shiro’s face before brushing his hands aside. 

“Okay, break’s over now,” he says, grabbing a fistful of the blanket and throwing it back, letting it tumble over the side of the bed.

“Hey!” Shiro tries to sit up but Keith pushes him right back down, hands pressed flat to Shiro’s shoulders as he hikes a leg over his waist, settling neatly onto his lap. They’re still naked, and Shiro can feel the lingering, damp heat of lube and come smeared across the backs of Keith’s thighs, dripping down from inside him. 

“Not all of us have shockingly short alien refractory periods, you know,” Shiro says. He makes a show of stretching his arms up above his head, sinking comfortably into the mattress like he’s settling down to sleep. “I’m pretty worn out after that last round.”

“That’s fine. You don’t have to do anything.” Keith lifts his palm to his face, licking it, pushing his fingers into his mouth.

“Uh huh. Do you want to fuck my thighs?”

Keith shakes his head. His tongue flickers behind his teeth, saliva shining at the corners of his lips. 

“I’m not sure if I can get hard again.” Shiro says. He’s already gotten off twice tonight. Keith shrugs, and Shiro’s gaze drops down to his cock, unsurprised to see it's beginning to thicken between his legs. 

Keith draws his fingers out, letting them trail down his chin. “I want to try and jerk you off.”

“Doesn’t sound that fun for you.”

Keith smirks, moving a wet finger back and forth across his bottom lip. “Disagree.”

Shiro lets out a weak puff of laughter, bashful though he has no reason to be. Keith gets like this sometimes. Fixating on Shiro, content to just watch and touch. It embarrasses him a little –being the subject of that kind of hyperfocus, knowing that Keith is studying every caught breath and helpless tremble as he strokes and teases him. But it’s a pleasant sort of embarrassment, the kind that makes him feel warm and light even as his stomach flutters. 

“You can try,” Shiro says. He doesn’t mean for it to be a challenge, but suspects Keith will take it as one anyways.

Keith’s mouth sets into a determined line as he wraps his slick fingers around Shiro’s cock, making a soothing sound when Shiro shivers, thighs twitching beneath Keith’s weight. 

“Sensitive?” Keith asks, as if Shiro hasn’t spent the last two hours fucking him. 

“Oh, you know. A bit.”

Keith tips up his chin, looking pleased. He keeps his grip loose, stroking Shiro at a slow, steady pace, his open hand creeping along his balls. He tucks his fingers in behind to offer a soft rub followed by a deep, kneading pressure that Shiro feels all the way down to his toes. Shiro shifts against the mattress, pulling in a sharp breath as the muscles in his legs clench tight. Keith eases back, waits, and presses in again.

“Jesus,” Shiro says, hands clenching at the pillow beneath his head, his entire body going slack when Keith draws his fingers away, moving them towards the sharp cut of his hip. “What’s gotten into you?” 

Keith cants his head, the ends of his hair drifting over his shoulders. “What, you think you can just casually mention you like dressing up in lingerie without making me want to touch you?”

A nervous, prickling heat spreads over Shiro’s belly and throat. “You were the one who asked about kinks.” 

“You’re turning red again.”

“Probably.”

“It’s cute,” Keith assures him. “Did you only ever wear it for someone else?”

“What?” Shiro lifts his head. It’s not the question he’s been expecting.

“Lie back,” Keith says. His eyes flash in the low light of the bedroom, focused and hungry. “Stay still.”

Shiro swallows. He lies back. 

“The lingerie,” Keith explains. “I want to know if you ever put it on alone, just for you.”

“I–” Shiro licks his lips. “Sometimes I did.”

The hand on Shiro’s cock falters. “Okay, that– you should talk more about that.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Just help me picture it.”

“Whatever you’re thinking is probably better, to be honest. It was hard to find items that fit.”

“I bet.” Keith grins, giving Shiro’s dick a soft, meaningful squeeze. It’s enough to draw a laugh out of both of them, and Shiro feels something tight and knotted begin to shake loose inside his chest.

Keith leans forward, his hand moving between them again, warm breath ghosting over Shiro’s jaw. “Maybe I should tell you what I’m imagining instead.”

Shiro’s cock twitches, a spark of heat igniting at the base of his spine. “Maybe.”

“Pink panties,” Keith says, low and sensual and so utterly serious that Shiro can’t help but laugh.

Keith pinches his side. “I’m not trying to be funny.”

“No,” Shiro says. “I know. I’m sorry. You’re just… intense.”

Keith frowns.

“Sorry,” Shiro says again, starting to feel guilty. “It’s not a bad thing. I’m–” _nervous_ “–I had a pair in purple.” 

Keith’s expression lifts. 

“Yeah?” He turns his wrist, his palm gliding smoothly around the base of Shiro’s cock. “Silk?”

“Satin. Not as nice but still –soft.”

“Did you touch yourself in them?”

Shiro nods, a short, stiff movement. “Sometimes.”

“It must have felt good, rubbing them against you.” Keith strains closer, nipping at Shiro’s chin, placing a kiss against his throat. “I bet you made a mess of them. I know how wet you can get.”

Keith’s thumb moves over the slit of Shiro’s cock, breaking over the bead of moisture starting to gather there as if to prove his point. Shiro’s mouth falls open, lips rounding into a silent _oh_.

“There would have been a matching bra too,” Keith murmurs, teeth scraping over the fluttering beat of Shiro’s pulse. “Something… cute. With lace or bows.” 

“Yeah,” Shiro gasps, though doesn’t actually think anything in his collection looked like that. But Keith’s right about how he used to touch himself, cupping his cock through the front of the panties, letting them drag over him as he bucked into his hand. He touched the bra too, rolling his thumb across the peak of his nipple through the thin material, pinching at himself until he whined. It made him feel good, dressing up and getting off like that, looking down at his body to admire the full swell of his bra, the tight pull of his underwear over his cock and balls and the way his stocking-clad legs seemed to frame it all when he pulled his knees up high enough. 

Keith tightens his grip, pulling off Shiro’s cock entirely before pushing his hand back down, pumping at a sudden, rapid pace. The space between them fills with the damp slap of skin on skin, and Shiro’s breath catches in shock, his hips rising from the bed as he chases Keith’s touch.

“That’s it,” Keith says, letting Shiro jerk into his hand a moment longer before slowing again, loosening his hold until only his fingertips are touching him, moving from root to tip. A throbbing pressure begins to build low in Shiro’s stomach, making him feel loose and hazy when Keith’s teasing stretches on. 

“I want to see you like that,” Keith says, whispering, like he’s telling secrets. “Dressed up, looking so good for me.”

Shiro closes his eyes, unable to stop the full-body shudder that flows through him. It’s impossible not to imagine it, Keith playfully snapping at the elastic band of his panties, flicking his thumbs over the smooth cups of his bra. _You look so good. You look so pretty._

“Would you like that?” Keith asks.

“Yes. _Yes_ , Keith–”

“You could keep it all on while I fucked you. I’d just have to pull the panties down a bit. You’d have to stay still, to make sure they don't rip.”

“It’s fine if they rip. I don’t care.”

“I care.” Keith kisses him, hot and heavy and deep, pressing in as close as he can. His blood-warm cock nudges against Shiro’s as he catches his bottom lip between his teeth, drawing it out and letting it pop back.

“I want you in them when you come,” he breathes, swaying his hips a little, rocking them from side to side.

“Oh,” Shiro gasps. His back arches. He needs more. “Oh, please–”

Keith sits up, eyes gleaming with a nearly yellow glow. It’s the only warning Shiro has before Keith’s hand is moving over his cock again, jerking hard and fast. 

“Move with me,” Keith tells him. “Fuck my fist.”

Shiro tries, but it’s difficult to fall into the right rhythm with Keith’s weight still pinning down his legs. He rolls his hips, heels digging into the mattress, slipping bit by bit against the sheets until he has to hike his legs back up and readjust. Keith’s opposite hand drifts up Shiro’s side, fingertips dipping into the shallow valley of his scars. He flattens his palm to Shiro's chest, squeezing, rubbing it over the hard pebble of his nipple.

“Are you gonna come?” He asks, eyes wide with colour high on his cheeks. He catches Shiro’s nipple between two fingers, plucking at it, pinching it red.

Shiro’s toes curl. He lets himself collapse into the mattress, panting with his head thrown back. He doesn’t know, isn’t sure why he hasn’t already when his cock feels so sensitive, pulsing with every pass of Keith’s fingers. 

“I can’t,” Shiro chokes out.

Keith lowers his brows, as if confused. “Don’t you want to?”

Shiro makes a noise, reedy and desperate. Yes, _yes_ , he wants to. He wants to lay himself bare and spread his legs, open himself up so Keith can touch him everywhere.

“Please,” is all he can say.

“Let me get you there," Keith says. "Tell me you’re gonna come, Shiro.”

“I’m gonna come,” Shiro groans. His cock twitches, almost like its trying, but there’s no release and Shiro spirals higher. 

“Here,” Keith says. He places two fingers on Shiro’s bottom lip, pushing them inside when he opens his mouth. They scrape along the edge of his teeth, sliding over his wet tongue, and Shiro _keens_. 

“Tell me again,” Keith croons, tenderly stroking the inside of Shiro’s cheek. 

“I’m gonna come,” Shiro mumbles around Keith’s fingers, his tongue curling over the bend of his knuckles. “I– I’m gonna come. I’m gonna–”

“Good. That’s perfect. You look–” Keith cuts himself off, trembling like he’s the one being touched. “God, you’re gorgeous like this.” 

Shiro whimpers. He sucks on Keith’s fingers, shameless and making lewd, wet sounds as saliva floods his mouth. He lets his focus narrow down to the weight on his tongue, the warm hand rubbing over his cock, Keith’s fond, low voice telling him that he’s good. Perfect. And Shiro wants– fuck, he _wants_ – 

He comes with a soft, breathy whine, mouth falling lax around Keith’s fingers. Only a thin stream of fluid dribbles out over Keith’s knuckles, but the moment seems to stretch on and on, encouraged by the unwavering glide of Keith’s hand and his moaning approval of _yes, yes, like that_. Shiro shudders, licking his lips when Keith pulls his fingers away, leaving his mouth empty and cold. 

“Wait,” Shiro mutters, reaching out and fumbling for Keith’s wrist. Keith’s still touching his cock, running his thumb up and down the softening length. “I need you.”

Keith links their fingers together, squeezing. “You have me.”

He says it so earnestly it makes Shiro’s chest feel tight. 

“I want to suck you off,” Shiro tells him.

Keith pauses. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Now.”

Keith shifts his weight, leaning forward onto his knees as he shuffles up Shiro’s body, pausing for a moment to wipe the come on his hand across his own pale thigh. 

“Like this?” He asks, hovering above Shiro’s collarbone.

Shiro hooks an arm around Keith’s waist, flattening his palm to the base of his spine and nudging him in closer. Keith sways, catching himself on the headboard with an amused huff and outstretched hand, his cock bouncing between his legs, swollen and red. Shiro makes a show of wetting his lips, opening his mouth wide and sticking out his tongue, his shoulders curling away from the mattress as he leans in. 

“Fuck,” Keith murmurs, breath catching in anticipation, and Shiro can't help himself.

He turns his face away, letting Keith’s cock bump clumsily against his chin before sliding over his cheek, leaving behind a warm, sticky trail. His eyes dart up, the corner of his mouth twitching as he takes in Keith’s stricken expression, the shocked fall of his jaw. He tilts his head, watching the way Keith’s chest hitches as he licks a messy stripe over the smooth crown of his cock.

Keith grabs himself by the base of his shaft, his other hand moving over Shiro’s hair, getting a grip at the back of his head. Shiro hums low in his throat, breathing out Keith's name blissfully as he tightens his hold, nails scratching at Shiro’s scalp. 

“Don't move,” he murmurs, dragging the tip of his cock back and forth over the seam of Shiro’s lips, smearing spit and precome. Shiro opens his mouth again, waiting, and stays perfectly still when Keith begins to feed his cock inside.

Shiro sighs, lashes fluttering against his cheeks. He loves this. Even now, arousal slated with his dick hanging limp against his thigh, he loves the warm, heady scent of Keith’s desire, the hot weight of him on his tongue. He loves the tender way Keith looks down at him when he starts rocking in and out, fingers still twisted in Shiro’s hair.

Keith’s eyes squeeze shut, brow furrowed in concentration as his movements remain almost sensually slow. Shiro groans around his mouthful, sucking desperately, urging Keith to move faster, to fuck him harder. Keith's mouth curls into a wicked, knowing grin, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat as he lets his head loll to the side.

"You're so good at this," he says dreamily. "So good. Just stay like that." 

Shiro trembles, warmth flowing through his chest and down his limbs, making him feel heavy. There’s saliva dripping over his chin, water gathering at the corners of his eyes from the strain. He flicks his tongue and lets Keith use him.

When Keith comes it’s without warning, spilling in Shiro's mouth with a surprised shout. Shiro swallows what he can, but it’s more than he’s ready for and he has to pull back, letting Keith finish over his lips and jaw and neck, turning his face into the pillow as he coughs, trying not to gag.

“Shit,” Keith says. He wipes his hand over Shiro’s chin, clearing away some of the mess and accidentally smearing more of it up his cheek. “Christ. Sorry. You okay?”

“I'm okay.” 

“I didn’t realize I was that close.”

"I liked it." Shiro shrugs. "I loved it." 

Keith ducks his chin, his smile almost shy as he rubs at Shiro’s face again. He pauses to roll his shoulders, stretching his neck from side to side like he’s trying to loosen up after a heavy workout. It makes Shiro laugh, so Keith retaliates by going limp and flopping down directly on top of him, pressing their bodies together.

“Fine. Stay dirty then.”

“Guess I will,” Shiro says. He wraps his arms around Keith, metal fingers bumping along his ribs as he trails his hand up his side. “Kiss me again?”

Keith lifts his head, shaking the hair out of his face as he wiggles his way up Shiro’s chest, smearing the mess they’ve made between their bodies. Shiro molds his hand around the back of Keith’s neck, dragging this thumb over the knot of his spine and pulling him in.

“Sometimes I think you're too much for me,” Shiro says, shaping the words against Keith’s lips.

“Please,” Keith scoffs. He leans back, grin turning sharp, folding a dimple into the scar on his cheek. “I’m the only one who can keep up.”

 

 

They talk about it again later.

Shiro falls asleep without meaning to, dozing for a few hours and waking again before the ship’s night cycle has turned over. He slides out of bed with the intention of taking a shower, but pauses when Keith lifts his head from the pillow, blinking, his hair fluffy and ruffled and sticking up above his ears. 

“Hi,” Shiro says.

Keith makes a confused, muffled sound.

Shiro smiles. He doesn’t care about the shower anymore. “You hungry?”

He makes them breakfast at three-thirty in the morning, shuffling through his kitchen in a pair of sweatpants and an unwashed t-shirt, leaning back against the counter as the mock-bacon sizzles. Keith places himself at the table behind him, legs stretched out onto an open chair, yawning as he scrolls through his datapad with a lazy flick of his thumb. 

Shiro doesn’t remember the last time he prepared a meal for someone else. He doesn’t cook much in general and rarely keeps food stored away in his quarters, preferring to eat in the communal mess hall with the rest of the crew. Hunk persuaded him to stock his fridge and cupboards nearly a week ago over a vid-call, insisting that Shiro would like having the option of making something on his own. Shiro’s still not sure if it matters to him much either way, but there’s something pleasant about fussing around in the kitchen for Keith’s sake. It makes him feel nostalgic for something they’ve never shared before, but could if they ever decided to return Earth or New Altea, settling into a more permanent residence between missions. 

“It’s ready,” Shiro says, turning off the stove. Keith twists in his seat, expression still sleep-soft but bright

They’ve almost finished eating when Keith perks up and says, “So.”

Shiro looks at him, slicing his fried egg in half with the edge of his fork.

“Lingerie.”

Shiro snorts, ducking his head. “Yep.”

“I like that.”

“I gathered.”

“I don’t get why you were so embarrassed to tell me though.”

“I wasn’t _so_ embarrassed. It’s just– it’s not something I’ve talked about in awhile.”

“I’ll have the rest of your toast if you don’t want it.”

Shiro spins his plate around, pushing it towards the centre of the table. 

“Thanks,” Keith says. “You were blushing, before.”

“Okay?”

“You never blush.”

“That can’t be true.”

“I’ve seen you deliver speeches to hundreds of people without blinking an eye.”

“Well, sure.” Shiro leans back in his chair. “But I rarely mention what I like to do in bed during those things.”

Keith huffs out a laugh and bites into his toast. “I guess that’s true.”

Shiro drums his fingers against the table. “It didn’t go over well with the last guy I tried it with. Kind of… turned me off the whole thing for awhile.”

Keith raises his eyebrows. He swallows, opens his mouth before shutting it again –quickly, and with a snap, but it’s too late. His unvoiced question is left to linger, exposed between them.

“It wasn’t Adam,” Shiro says, voice clipped, and suddenly he doesn’t want to be talking about this anymore. He pushes back from the table, grabbing his plate and mug before walking over to the counter.

“I didn’t know you were with anyone after him.”

“Had a few flings. Nothing serious.”

Shiro turns the tap and waits for the sink to fill, watching the suds bubble up. It’s a strange time for him to reflect on. The months leading up to Kerberos were far from the worst of his life, but they had been exhausting to live through, every moment occupied by some drill or meeting all while Shiro ricocheted unpredictably through feelings of excitement and fear and rage. He missed Adam, missed him almost as much as he loved or hated him, never wavering in his decision to end their relationship but resenting having to make the choice. After long days of training he’d return to his empty apartment, move through the strange, hollow spaces Adam used to fill, and think that this –well. This was it, wasn't it? All he would have waiting for him when he came back.

Keith’s chair scrapes against the floor. A moment later there are hands resting on Shiro’s hips, Keith’s chin digging into his shoulder. 

Shiro started going to bars, sometimes with Matt and sometimes alone, flirting with the handsome men that eyed him up and bought him drinks. He fooled around with a few of them, kissing one or two on the dance floor, letting them tug him into the bathroom for a quick grope. Eventually there was one he liked enough to take back to his apartment. He had seemed nice enough, at the time. Funny and good looking.

The fourth time they were together he asked Shiro what he wanted, lips moving along his jaw, hands rucked up beneath his shirt, and in a moment of bold desire Shiro had decided to tell him. What did it matter if he balked or said no? This wasn’t going to last –couldn’t, with the mission scheduled only a few months out. If it wasn’t to his taste they would just do something else. It would be fine. No big deal.

Shiro hadn’t expected the guy to laugh, to shake his head and pause and then burst into laughter _again_ when he realized Shiro wasn’t joking.

“I can hear you thinking,” Keith says.

“Yeah.”

“We don’t have to talk about it anymore if it’s bothering you.”

Shiro shakes his head. “It’s a stupid thing to be cagey about.”

Keith nips at Shiro playfully through his shirt, catching a sliver of skin between his teeth. “You’re allowed to be upset about things.”

Shiro starts doing the dishes. Keith steps up beside him, swinging the faucet around to the empty side of the sink so he can rinse. Shiro looks at him, sidelong, and misses the weight of his hands on his waist. 

Shiro tries to think of how to explain it in a way that would make sense, how to make Keith understand that there are a lot of things he’s still upset about, terrible things he has to carry around, always, like stones in his pockets. And this –this isn’t one of them. Not really. It’s small and unimportant, but Shiro wishes it could just be what it was. Something fun. Something that made him feel good.

And there’s more to it than just that initial twinge of embarrassment. The man who laughed at Shiro apologized. He said the request had taken him off guard, that Shiro didn’t look like the _type_. His reaction had been genuine, not cruel for cruelty’s sake, but if Shiro didn’t look like the type then how would he appear now, with delicate strips of lace and satin framing the discoloured scars on his skin, wrapped around a body that isn’t even his, that was stolen and copied and given back without anyone asking if he even wanted it. There are days that Shiro can hardly stand to look in the mirror, when he’ll catch an unexpected glimpse of himself reflected in a window or Atlas’ gleaming hull and start back, shocked by the flash of his own white hair, the clunky bulk of his prosthesis. 

Shiro’s stomach twists, disgust churning inside him, bubbling up like hot tar. He has to stop moving, has to wrap his hands around the edge of the counter to keep himself steady. There’s a buzzing in his ears and a foul taste creeping up the back of his tongue. His heart drums hard beneath his ribs.

“Shiro?” Keith turns towards him, arms pulling back from the sink. 

“Sorry.” The Atlas almost seems to tilt, tipping off-balance, but Shiro’s feet are still planted flat to the floor. He’s frightened now that he’s going to be sick, chest heaving as he struggles to pull in enough air through his clenched teeth. 

Quietly, Keith asks, “What happened?”

Shiro shakes his head. He doesn’t know. He hasn’t been like this for– for awhile now. Months, maybe. And tonight was good, it was fun and sweet and he’s going to ruin it– 

Keith makes a soft, understanding sound. “Can I touch you?”

“Okay.”

He reaches for Shiro’s elbow, drawing him around to face him. The room spins but Keith holds him steady, hands curling around the base of Shiro’s neck, palms still slippery and cool from the water. He keeps them there, a comfortable weight that Shiro’s eager to bend to, and Keith pushes up on his toes as Shiro bows forward until they’re standing brow to brow.

“You’re allowed to be upset,” Keith tells him again, so gentle it makes Shiro ache. His fingers drift up, moving through Shiro’s hair, tracing nonsense patterns over his skin.

The tightness in Shiro’s lungs begins to ease. He curls in further, dropping his face to Keith’s shoulder, nuzzling into the dark, warm hollow of his throat. Keith wraps his arms around him, and together they wait for the rest of it to settle back into place.

**Author's Note:**

> Up next: actual lingerie makes an appearance.
> 
> You can find me at [twitter](https://twitter.com/lightshesaid) & [tumblr](https://lightshesaid.tumblr.com/) if you want to come say hi :)


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